


can you hear (my heartbeat)?

by velvetnoire



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Santa (But It's Not Really Festive)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetnoire/pseuds/velvetnoire
Summary: Is this love?What a beautiful and terrible thing it is. It brings you up from ashes. It brings you to your knees.





	can you hear (my heartbeat)?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChewingstonChew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChewingstonChew/gifts).



You try to staunch the wound to little avail: it’s like cupping water in your hands – or perhaps hourglass grains; ticking time you cannot stop nor make falter.

You know she will not die, for she has suffered wounds worse than this, yet you cradle her close, fingers twitching; you are unsure where to even begin healing the damage inflicted upon her skin, typically silken smooth as she murmurs into your ear; velvet words only for you to hear. 

(There’s blood. Everywhere. You tamp down the panic, the fear. What was once porcelain smooth skin has now bloomed with an ugly, mottled purple. But even then, _even then,_ she looks like a Goddess, flowers running across the length of her arms as grimy tears sting your own wounds. Something primal stirs within you, your soul aches and _aches,_ terrified at the mere thought of idolising her in this state.)

You know that she will return from the ether with the snap of a whip and the sound of crackling oil, lips red as roses pressed against your skin - suffusing your cheeks with a flush you deny, but she knows is there, for why else would she be smirking?

(She offers a kiss to the hand to the few she deems her equal, for she has always had the heart of a demanding noble. In her eyes, you must earn your crown. To find you deserving truly is a feat. Otherwise – you'd be lucky for her to bow down, lucky for her to even allow you to lick her boots.) 

Perhaps that’s why she does it – she loves eliciting such a reaction from you, stumbling over your words in a tizzy, footfalls faltering mid-step.

You press a hand to your heart, to quell its racing as if you wish not for her to hear. But perhaps there is something in you that wishes that she would lend an ear, a quiescent croon that sings louder with each passing day. It whispers: _listen, can you hear it? My heart races at the thought of you._

Perhaps it had been the driving cause behind a confrontation long in the making.

 _“Have you heard the story of the bell thief, Miss Yuxiang?”_  

_“No. Do tell.” You can't help the curt response; you open your mouth again to apologize, but Peking Duck levels you with a stern gaze that says: no need._

_“I suppose a historian would have little use for children’s fables.” He pauses before blowing a ring of smoke in the air – whimsical as it was, he couldn't help but chuckle before returning to his tale._

_“In short, there was a thief who tried to steal the bell of a wealthy family. Finding it too large to carry, he decides to smash it before bringing it home. After one hammer’s strike, the bell began to ring loudly, its sonorous sound seemingly heard by all.”_

_“So what did the thief decide to do then?”_

_“Ah, this is the worst part. The thief, in his panic, clapped his hands over his ears in an attempt to avoid hearing the sound once more. He kept striking the bell with his hammer, his task made all the easier. But of course, he was the only one ignorant to the sound. Soon, he was caught.”_

_“How foolish.”_

_“You say so, yet...are you not doing the same, Miss_ _Yuxiang?”_

Closing your eyes and covering your ears does nothing to delay the inevitable.

At the end of the day - you're not like that bell thief at all; you told Peking so. You are fully aware of the sentiments sparking between you and Spicy, fully aware that she has your back. Not that you'd voice it aloud.

(You are fully aware of the feelings surging through your veins when you see her, thoughts flying into disarray. There’s hardly anything that can blind you so much as she does.)

It’s why you bite your lip instead, swallowing back the words your pride won't allow. Instead, you spit out another rapid-fire retort, more smoke than fire. Banter exchanged between you is a salvo of scorn and gazes smoldering, sizzling, simmering but hardly ever boiling over. It’s thrilling, you suppose, to rile each other up; to test your limits.

It's all a game between the two of you, but with the seriousness you take it – well, with pride on the line, you’ll have to assert yourself as the victor.

(Although with Spicy Gluten...you must admit, it's no easy task. There is a time when you’ve thought of the repercussions, of quitting before it’s too late. But she always finds a way to keep your blood singing for more.)

Perhaps she flirts to forget; the adrenaline thrill is electric in your veins, charging the atmosphere between the two of you, reminiscent of a storm about to let loose. To forget the lives on the line, to forget the fate that could befall either of you: to Fall, eyes burning crimson.

Becoming the enemy your comrades have sworn to fight, being branded no more than a beast may be a fate worse than death: becoming a puppet in one’s own skin, a marionette acting on the whims of its master. Watching as those that were once your friends, family, your loved ones, choke back their tears as they brandish their weapons against you – something breaks in your chest, ripping a sob you tried so desperately to will away.

It’s why you and Spicy have promised each other to bring an end to the other in hopes of purification, and in hopes of granting the other salvation from the animal impulses that seize control.

You know the signs of a Fall by heart. You’d committed them to memory, in case the dreaded scenario ever happened to you.

It’s no wonder the page detailing the symptoms is stained by tears - and not only your own.

(How many have Fallen and never returned? How many have had to perform their partner’s purification, only for it to be all in vain? You don’t dare to wonder, for the bleakness of despair would burden you more than you could ever bear.)

That’s why, when Spicy’s eyes darken, you know something has gone terribly wrong. Her eyes have always been like flames –  always, always smoldering with a passion to bring the world to ashes and build anew. To pursue her desires without reserve, heels clicking out a rhythm to the beat of her own drum.

But never had they seethed with such murderous intent, emanating a deadly aura that made a chill trail down your spine. 

Orange eyes bloom crimson. At last –  from a sunlit sky, a blood moon is about to rise; the color of her eyes proclaims the outcome. There’s a lump in your throat as your heart pounds a staccato in your ears. You want to clap your hands over them and close your eyes, because if you can’t see...if you can’t hear...maybe you could pretend everything was okay.

(See no evil, hear no evil. Do no evil. Spicy Gluten is _not_ evil.) 

“You promised,” you whisper, but it’s more to yourself than anything. Your voice is shaking as you choke out the words; this can’t be happening. This can’t… “You stutter, voice failing with every syllable, ‘darling, for someone who disrespects me so much...I’ll have to stick around. Teach you who’s in charge.”

But you have your own promises to keep. Your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily, but force yourself to open them once more.

(Your hands are stained red, blooming like a wretched flower, fair skin dripping red, red, _red_. Your eyes burn hot with unshed tears. But you will not allow yourself the luxury of mourning for someone who cannot die. Mourning would mean that she is gone.)

You know that Spicy will return, just like how you know the sun will rise again. From darkness, dawn shall break across the land. From the ether, Spicy would return once more.

(So why are your hands trembling? Why is your heart breaking?) 

You bury your face in her chest and listen for a heart that beats no longer.

You engulf the area in flames with an inferno that blazes just as brightly as she had, only moments before.

(Then, when the land is scorched in raging pain, you scream yourself hoarse. You cry ugly, fat, tears that stain her ashen face. And when she starts to splinter into billions of shards, you cut your hands trying to keep as many pieces of her as you can.)

 

* * *

Fragments of memory drift past you, flickers of a gentle heat and gusts of bitter cold.

Someone is laughing, bright like the stars in the sky, tinkling like the chime of bells.

 Someone is sobbing, but whoever it is – it cannot be you, for you have no vocal chords. No mouth to scream or scorn, no mouth to smile or smirk. You are engulfed in warmth, drifting through a haze threaded with golden light.

_Foolish girl, didn’t I tell you? I’ll never leave what’s mine unattended. Don't tell me – you can’t even understand something so simple?_

The voice is an echo of your own, you realize, carrying a note of fond exasperation; you'd shaken your head as you’d wrapped gauze white as bone around her wounds. Her eyes had been bright with tears she refused to shed from the pain – especially in front of you. You’d told her not to help those humans, having seen their hatred, ill-conceived beneath their expressions of fear.

_So stubborn. Do you ever listen?_

In that moment, her eyes had shone with a naivety that had once mirrored your own, adamant as iron and just as unyielding. No words could dissuade her.

You’d shaken your head. Fine. Have it her way. She’d learn the hard way, just as you had. But – you can't help but try, one last time. If you can prevent someone else from that feeling of bitterness, regret pooling heavy in your stomach from disillusion… there's little harm in one last attempt.

_You'll regret helping those villagers. Don't do it._

For a moment, you’re almost convinced she had been swayed – but her resolve steels only moments later, her expression hardening. They're fine features; warm eyes and a jaw set, brows furrowed in a way you want to set at ease.

Foolishness is not far from bravery – something you can’t help but admire.

But as you watch her retreating back, you cannot help but feel like you are sending a child off to war.

-

If you had eyes to see, perhaps you could make out the gleam of stars. Farther than you can reach, farther than you can grasp.

You are but one soul in a sea of billions, and it is difficult to make out which thoughts are your own. 

But you are glad that you are able to reclaim a coherent state of mind, thoughts crystallizing far clearer than when you had nearly Fallen.

(Your head was splitting from terrifying duality, a haze of black clouding your vision. Clear thought dissolved into a mantra of madness, animalistic impulses having overridden your system. You were ravenous, starving, like you hadn't eaten in days, weeks, eons, _millennia._ You wanted to consume more and more; you wanted to raze the land to naught but ash and dust – the very same dust from which it had been _made._

It was dark, but souls glittered like diamonds in the dim, like shimmering stars in a sea of ink. Too bright. You were – who _were_ you? Where were you? Why… what was this feeling?

You were shaking, but it was like your body didn’t belong to you. Your eyes were hot, stinging with tears.. 

This couldn't be happening.

_This couldn't – )_

You have always been strong.

Crowned among commoners, you've always claimed what is yours. If you commanded your enemies to kneel, they would bend a knee without question, kissing cobblestones with the crack of a whip. Fallen have never been a problem for you – until now, when the enemy was no longer someone you could fight. Your body had been turned against you. But you will not succumb.

You _refuse_ –

 _Foolish girl, don't forget our promise. Tsk, tsk, time is ticking; quit wasting your time, dear. I’ll be fine_.

Yuxiang was a woman of her word; she fulfilled her promise with a veritable inferno. Flames had swallowed you up, blinding in their brilliance. Oddly enough, they did not sear or even singe; they’d lapped at your skin with the tenderness of a kitten. Warmth surrounded you from all sides, and you’d allowed yourself into its embrace.

It must have been because they were Yuxiang’s. _Soft-hearted as always_ , you had sighed, but you were smiling.

 -

There is a voice calling you home.

It calls you back to a corporeal realm, where your heart beats to the tempo of the battlefield: a melody performed rubato, allowing for acceleration but also moments of peace. It sings of longing _(for her hands, entwined in yours, for you to be safe and sound);_ it sings of hope _(that you would return before winter’s end, so the two of you could watch spring come again once more.)_  

It sings of loneliness, of a whole bereft of its other half – the worry of a lover waiting for their partner to return from the battlefield, for the trumpets heralding victory.

But this is not a song of brass, nor anything lavish as gold.

But this voice haunts you, echoes in your mind and occupies your every thought. It brings memories – equal amounts torturous and exultant – to the forefront of your mind.

_You crack your whip, breaking the barrier of sound. You intend to act as a distraction; the noise shatters the silence like a gunshot._

_It’s a surprisingly picturesque scene for a fight. Cherry blossoms blanket the battlefield; a gentle breeze carries their aroma through the forest. Spring has come and brought its bountiful blessings to Sakurajima._

_“Keep your eyes on me, dear,” you smile with the tone of an underlying threat, more command than request. You don’t dare look the Orochi in the eye; you’re daring, but you’re not asking for a death wish. Crimson threads stand out stark against its monochrome palette, sanguine shining sickeningly like your most recent wound._

_You were too careless – a self-detonating puppet had caught gone straight for the arm you use for your whip. Clever._

_Even beasts could understand the concept of sacrifice, it seemed._

_But suddenly –_ _the Orochi howls, a guttural sound that reminds you of grief. Its allies had been reduced to no more than ashes, thanks to the combined efforts of you and Yuxiang._

_Your traitorous body, by instinct, can’t help but turn to look at the source of the sound. Your eyes catch the Orochi’s gaze: the color of blood spilt like wine, its mask the white of skulls shattered as easily as glass._

_Reality warps before your eyes and you are brought to your knees._

_-_

_You are a soldier sent off to fight a foe you know you can never defeat._  

_You are but a hot-blooded youth who went to war expecting glory. Instead, you lose more than you can ever get back in return, because there is no glory in senseless slaughter. Your forces fall faster than the Fallen Angels ever will. You hardly ever visit the medical tent, because you don’t want to see the faces of comrades who had once been your friends._

_You’re a coward, but all you want is to live. Is that so bad?_

_But no, you are –_ _your name is Semimaru, a king you hope that rules just and fair. Heavy weighs the crown and its burden, the mantle you swore to bear. You swear it –_ _you_ ** _will_** _reclaim the lands stolen from your people by the Fallen. Whatever it takes._

_You are afraid, for the more experiments you run, the less sleep you require. The dishes you’d once loved – sushi and sashimi – are tasteless to you now. You look in the mirror, but you do not recognize the man you see anymore. Night black hair has gone slate grey and warm brown eyes have become a cold scarlet._

_You cannot bear to look at such a face anymore, so you wear a mask befitting of your now monstrous nature – curved horns and wicked fangs, bleached white as bone._

_No, your name is –_

_“SPICY!”_

_Yuxiang hardly ever raises her voice, but there is urgency in her tone now as she cries out your name. How could you have forgotten? How could you have raised your whip to strike at her? You are close enough to breathe in the scent of her perfume and smoke from her kiseru, a calming scent that soothes your frayed nerves._

_“You were afflicted with Orochi’s illusions, and consequently were charmed. I…it was a last resort, but I’m glad it could bring you back.”_

_She saved you, just with the sound of your voice. You’re grateful beyond what you can express aloud, but instead what slips out is:_

_“Oh, how careless of me. Darling, would you like me to reward you?”_

_(Your hands are shaking as you hide them behind your back, for you cannot bear to ever bring her harm. You will not allow her to see your weakness - not now, not yet.)_  

_She’d flushed red as those fated strings, said to tie soulmates together. You were always a free spirit, but – it wasn’t the first time you wouldn’t have minded being bound to her._

-

Perhaps it is a handful of soul embers that call you home.

But the catalyst is her voice, brought up in opera houses of old, reaching octaves you could never dream of approaching without strain. It tugs at your heartstrings, bringing back a sense of sepia-tinted nostalgia of days long past.

You want to be beside her in battle once more, harmonizing with with a synchronicity born from years by her side.

You will not keep her waiting any longer.

 

* * *

 

Winter has arrived, and so has Spicy. She announces her sudden appearance with a knock at the door and no forewarning whatsoever. Typical.

 _“You’re back,”_ you whisper, unbelieving. You reach for her face, tracing her features as physical proof, liquid you soon realize as tears streaming down your cheeks. “Took you long enough.”

“Missed me?” Spicy asks, but already knows the answer as she allows you to hold her close, breathing in her scent and engraving her every feature into your memory.

“Who would?” You huff in faux annoyance, crossing your arms. In contrast, her citrine eyes crinkle with delight, gleaming with mischief. Soon the two of you are laughing for no reason at all, dissolving into giggles at the sight of the snow dusting Spicy’s shoulders and her usually immaculate outfit.

It’s a testament to how far the two of you have come that you’d missed this. It’s something you’d never allow yourself to admit, once.

You’d missed _her_. 

- 

The vessels you occupy are crafted from simulacra, neither flesh nor bone.

Why is it, then, that food souls bleed and breathe and _break_ just as humans do? Certainly, you were crafted in their image, but what was the _need_?

One such curious example is the need for sleep, a necessity for humans and food souls alike. Perhaps even summoned souls need a place to rest, to lay down their arms and let down their guard.

Over many years, you have become accustomed to such human mannerisms, having adapted by obtaining some of your own. Unfortunately, you have fallen into a habit of one of their fallacies in particular. Curiosity has always plagued you, its incessant itch something you have never been able to leave alone.

 Your Master Attendant had used a particular adage to warn you, but you did not listen. And it had led you into ruin, you think, but there is no going back to days long past, when you had been brought into the world unknowing and naive of its cruelty.

As a consequence, you still harbor wounds that have yet to heal. Will they ever, you wonder, but it’s not a question you know a definitive answer to. You have lived quite a long time, but you are searching for the answers you lack, something to fill the absence your Master Attendant had left. Perhaps he was the closest thing to a father you’d ever known – teaching you all that he knew, taking you under his wing like another of his students.

 (Once, you had wondered if you could have seen him again in the ether, if Peking had not saved you. Perhaps it had been your imagination, but – you’d like to think you had seen a flicker of his face, smiling upon you.)

You do not why Spicy had taken a similar role for you. Had she seen a fragment of her younger self in you? She’d tried to steer you away from those villagers, so long ago, wanting desperately to shield you from their ill intent. And… you’ve begun to realize that you’d do the same for her, if you could have wound back the ticking clock to be her guiding light.

In the same fashion, you do not know why you dream.

-

_Ink stains your hands in a mockery of blood dark as burning coals, opaque as the simmering smoke that invades your lungs, stealing your very breath away._

_Humans that had lived and breathed and loved and laughed, just like you, were now reduced to no more than ink and paper. All that remained of them was contained within the pages of the black book cradled in your hands_ (stained) _, a burden_ (so heavy) _that you’ve been asked to bear._

_You bear witness to the annihilation of a country, obliterated by an all-consuming conflagration; it is gone within a single night._

_Its ruins are the only remnants of its corruption._  

_You would never approve of their actions, but at the same time – you feel the very same for how they were reduced to naught. Yet the food soul beside you had brought judgement to so many sinners, as if he was any better._

_But when you take a look at his expression, it is not triumphant. It does not harbor any arrogance nor joy. It is void of all light. It is exhausted; flecks of ash have accumulated in his typically immaculate hair, something you think he would never allowed in any other circumstance._

_You look through the pages and find so many names, so many families, so many lovers and mothers and daughters and sons...yet you cannot help but wonder._

_Would you become like them?_

_Would your existence be carried by secondhand account, reduced to no more than data? Would no one remember the way you laughed or how you liked smoking your kiseru in the morning, where there would be none to disturb your contemplation? Would no one remember the you who had been so foolish, heedless of warnings and satisfying your curiosity no matter the cost?_

_When you begin to fade, some part of you is at peace; you have lived a solitary existence through so many seasons. Who are you to judge right from wrong? You wanted to do nothing but close your eyes and succumb to the sway of dreams._

_Some part of you is at peace. But at the same time – you are afraid, for you knew not of what lies beyond the realm of the living. You were afraid of your existence dimming to nothing but a spark extinguished by a fleeting wind, afraid of what lies in the absence of form._

_But Peking makes his way to your side, and you fear no more. He is a soul you do not think you will ever understand, a soul you will eventually come to think of as a faithful friend - but that is a tale for another time._

_His hand takes yours and infuses you with warmth, with life – and from then on, you end up employed for life, and for the rest of the lives you have._

_It was the end of an era, but in a sense, it was your beginning._

-

_The dream shifts._

_The aftertaste of ashes is disgusting on your tongue; your lips are painfully dry. You stare at the smoke, as if further examination would grant you the ability to pierce through its depths. As it clears, you can see that the cracks of a whip have carved rifts into the ground, wounds that have left to close._

_You know this by instinct, the sound all too familiar in your ears. Your heart pounds in your ears like thunder, your muscles straining to their limits because you have to reach her in time, you have to..._

_You have to save her._

_(Because the two of you are the only ones left. The rest of your team had been wiped out. Fallen had never been so abundant here before. You came unprepared – neitherl of you had expected their sheer number.)_

_But you never make it in time._

_It begins to rain – at a first, the drops are refreshing until you realize your flames are sputtering out one by one, rendered ineffective against your foe._  

_An Uke Mochi towers high above the two of you, laughter discordant and shrill, a sound grating and filled with ill intent. Its tongue seems endless, sending trees crashing to the ground as it seeks out its prey; its many incisors curve menacingly from the appendage attached to its head._

_It’s determined to consume everything within its sight, but you can’t let that happen._

_You find Spicy slumped at the base of a tree, breaths harsh in the stillness you are afraid to shatter. You take her hand, but it’s colder than it should be._

_Lightning flashes, splitting the sky; it casts a sickly light over Spicy’s face, pallid and sickly instead of bright and bold._

_Why did it always come to this? Why were you always the one left alone? You don’t want to see any of this._

_Because seeing is believing, and you do not want to believe.)_

_You don’t want to hear the Fallen crashing through the bushes, its massive forks leaving craters in their wake, because that would mean your mission would have all been in vain._

_(But deceiving yourself will not make make the reality before you any less real.)_

_There is nothing you can do, surrounded by Fallen you cannot defeat on your own._

_You collapse by Spicy’s side. Seems like even now, she’s... “No,” you choke out, pleading desperately as her body began to fade into particles of light. “You can’t take her, you can’t – don’t leave me!”_

_She’s fading before your eyes, and you can’t even play pretend._

_None of this is real. It can’t be, right?_

_You’d rather play the fool than face the truth, if this is what it comes to._

_Close your eyes and cover your ears, and it’ll be like she was never gone._

-

“Can you hear it?”  Spicy speaks in a way you have never heard her before, gentle as she coaxes you back into the waking world.

“Can you hear it?” She asks again, insistent.

You don’t understand.

She pulls you close, closer, her embrace bringing you a security in which you know you will never come to harm.

You listen, straining against the silence - and you hear it.

Her heart beats steady, promising life.

“You’re _alive,”_ you whisper in a voice choked with grief, “I thought…”

“Darling, I’m not going anywhere,” Spicy puts you at ease, her confidence a familiarity you cling to in a sea of uncertainty. “Breathe with me – one, two, three…”

Your hand finds hers and you hold it tight, not wanting to ever let go.

-

“Darling, it's cold outside.” Spicy calls from the kitchen like you couldn’t tell for yourself; you brush snow off your shoulders as you make your way inside the restaurant. You’re only here for a brief visit; the two of you were going to have to make a delivery soon.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, will you do about it? You have no coat to lend me.” You take a look at the snow falling outside before eyeing her outfit skeptically. Even if Spicy had always generated more warmth than the typical food soul, you can’t help but worry.

“But I can lend you my warmth.” Spicy leans close, but you don’t back away. You refuse to allow her this victory. Instead, a smirk curls your lips; you’ve always been up to the challenge.

“Will you?” You gaze into her eyes, gleaming with a mischief you’ve learned to love. 

A kiss from Spicy was as good as an answer. It said something like hands intertwined and hearts beating as one, a reciprocation as good as any.

If it spoke, it would have been a whisper –  impossibly tender; it was something shared between them. A secret sealed with a kiss. Or, knowing Spicy, perhaps it would be better expressed as a shout, bared for all of the world to hear. 

 _Is this love?_ You cannot help but wonder; because all human mannerisms you have had to learn. You had never been human, only brought into this world to serve their kind.

Love.

What a beautiful and terrible thing it is. It brings you up from ashes. It brings you to your knees.

“What will the future hold, I wonder….” you muse, pensive, watching the light of a candle dance across her expression, filled with mirth.

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” Spicy laughs, the sound light as a spring breeze. It fills the silence, warding away the doubt that plagues your mind. You cannot help but admire such a cavalier attitude; perhaps you should follow suit.

In that manner, Spicy inspires a confidence in you – with her by your side, even fate may falter.

Yes, some part of your fate was already written. But for what is to come – you will write an ending of your own.

**Author's Note:**

> Aka "bruh my heart died and came alive" courtesy of @xxELF21xx, or Ankh, who betaed this!! Thank you so much...a real blessing...
> 
> Chewy, I'm so sorry this came... weeks late... this had to be perfected... but I hope you enjoy!!


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